


Sex, Drugs & Jazz

by megan14385



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-19 13:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2389583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megan14385/pseuds/megan14385
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mickey is the head of the Milkovich crime family. He's cocky, smart and lonely<br/>Him and Ian cross paths and we all know there's no keeping these two apart in any universe</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. How it all came to be

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fan fic and i cant believe i actually have the balls to post it. (yay me)
> 
> I want to test the waters with the first chapter and see what peoples reaction is.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy.

Chicago: 1922

Milkovich, a name that struck fear into the hearts of many in the Southside, had done so for years, generations even, going back to the original Milkovich, Nikolai, who stepped off the boat decades ago. He was a wanted man, hence his relocation to Chicago. He left his brother, Oleksandr in charge of operations in the Ukraine, while he took off to America to start anew. When Nikolai emigrated here from the Ukraine he set up shop immediately. He took control of the illegal happenings in Chicago and quickly became a man who everyone knew not to fuck with. He had no problem knee capping or beating the shit out of someone who didn’t pay the protection fee he had established.

As the years went on, the Milkovich Empire grew. Nikolai started running girls in a few different whore houses, he even went as far as to import some girls from the Ukraine, and business just grew from there. Foreign women were an exotic commodity in Chicago, and the guys just ate that shit up.

By the time Nikolai died in 1910, he had left his son, Tsar, or Terry as he liked to be called, the greatest criminal outfit Chicago had ever seen.

Now Terry was a complete different animal than his father. He hated everyone and everything, regardless if he had a reason. If you even looked at him sideways, be prepared to be laid up in the hospital for the next 6 months. He had a particular vile hatred for women and weak men. His own wife had left him when their youngest was only 12, in 1914. She died from a lethal overdose of heroin and moonshine, and from that point on Terry was a mess. He was barely coherent at any given time, and if it was at all possible, his hatred grew.

After his wife died, Terry wasn’t around most of the time, he was out doing god knows what with god knows who. He barely took care of the family business, and had started to let everything fall apart. People stopped paying their dues, the girls were getting out of hand, back talking and such, and there was major chit chat in the streets about how the Milkovichs had fallen off. The Milkovich name, which was once so notable, was now turning into a joke, and Mickey couldn’t stand by and do nothing.

So at the tender age of 16, he began to take over the business while his father fucked off. He hired a few extra guys to help restore order in the Southside, and considering he was running things by himself now, without help from anyone in the family, save for Mandy, he did a pretty phenomenal job of returning order to the universe. He had a knack for the bookkeeping, and the violent side of crime came naturally to him, so getting people back in line had been relatively easy and a tad bit fun for him. Towards the end of Terry’s life, Mickey had even started dabbling in a few new business opportunities of his own, mainly bootlegging, which Mickey soon found out to be the most lucrative business he could have gotten into.

Now, nearly 7 years later, he had once again established the Milkovichs’ as King of the Southside, and by the time 1922 rolled around, it was out with the old and in with the new. He had officially inherited the family business from his father, who died about 3 days ago. Mickey was relieved to say the least. He and his father did not always see eye to eye on things, and their relationship was getting strained, to say the least. So when Mickey got the word that his father had passed, it was like he could breathe for the first time in what felt like his whole adult life.

Mickey had made sure everyone knew he was running things now, and had expanded his empire beyond anything any one of them thought was possible. Everybody knew the Milkovich name again, knew the men who bore that name, like a badge of honor. They were proud to be a Milkovich once again and wouldn’t have it any other way. They were boss of the Southside. They came and went as they pleased, took what they wanted when they wanted it, and never apologized for any of it.

They continued to run and expand the dirtiest, most ruthless crime syndicate in the Southside of Chicago. Mickey had his hands everywhere, running a dozen or so speakeasies, along with a few whorehouses here and there, both overflowing with beautiful girls and guys who ran the place. Variety is the key to life after all. He had crooked cops and dirty politicians in his pockets, and controlled all the gambling in the neighborhood. They were based out of Canaryville, the toughest neighborhood in the Southside. They wouldn’t have it any other way though, this was their home, and they loved every second of it.

Mickey always knew he was the heir to the Milkovich Dynasty, even though he was the youngest of the Milkovich boys. The other two were just too stupid to handle everything that came along with control of the business; they were always just the muscle behind the operation. But Mickey was a different story. He had the muscle and the brains. Looking back on it now that was probably another reason his father hated him so much, and why he was the obvious choice to take over when his father was losing it. He could handle the books better than anyone in the family. He’d been in charge of them from the time he was 14, right around the time is mom died. It gave him something to do, keep busy if you will, instead of following in his fathers' footsteps and drinking himself to death. Now at the age of 22, he was the youngest crime boss in the Southside.

He was the toughest out of the Milkovich boys, albeit the smallest. It’s something he’s learned to accept over the years, but still, he wouldn’t mind being just a little bit taller. What he lacked in height, he more than made up for in brute strength. He was known for his right hook, and he could knock out just about anyone that crossed his path. Whenever someone saw him walking down the street, with that signature Milkovich sway, like he owed the street itself, which in all seriousness they almost did, they crossed over to the other side. It was part fear, part respect.

Mickey was a cocky son of a bitch, and he knew it, everybody knew it, and rightfully so. He was extremely good looking; his milky white skin was such a stark contrast against his pitch black hair that was slicked back atop his head. He spent more time than he’d like to admit on his hair, but it was his signature look, so to hell with everyone else. He had ice blue eyes that pierced through anyone brave enough to look him in the eye. His plush pink lips fit perfectly on his face. His shoulders and biceps that bulged under his tight button down, with his tattooed knuckles on display at all times. His pants tailored just right to show off his perfectly sculpted legs and round ass.

All in all he was a beautiful man. All the girls thought so. They would constantly throw themselves at the gangster hoping they would be the lucky one to finally capture the thugs’ heart. Many tried, and many failed, horribly. He would throw some insult at them whenever they tried to talk to him, telling them they should go and work in one of his whore houses with all the other sluts. What the girls, or anyone for that matter, except his sister, didn’t know was that this particular gangster was gay. And he only had eyes for one man. Ian fucking Gallagher.


	2. What brings you here?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From this point on, neither of their lives would ever be the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the love.  
> Here's the next chapter in my Ian and Mickey saga.  
> And of course there will be more to follow.

The gangster and Ian came to know each other the way Mickey came to know most people, by going to collect a debt. Of course the debt wasn’t Ian’s. It was his drunken asshole of a father Frank.

 

Frank had bet on some race he was sure he’d win. “I got the inside scoop, man. I can’t lose, no way I’m gonna lose. I got this.”

 

Mickey remembered the almost incoherent babbling of Frank while pounding his fist against the Gallagher’s front door. He knew Frank probably wouldn't be home, he rarely ever was, but here he was still standing on the Gallagher's front porch, the pounding getting louder the longer he stood there. “Frank! ..........  Frank! .........  Open the fucking door!”

 

Finally he heard someone coming to open the door. The door opened slowly, cautiously almost, because whoever was behind it knew it had to be a Milkovich on the other side. Nobody pounded on doors or yelled that loud in this neighborhood other than a Milkovich.

 

When the person behind the door was revealed, Mickey was taken aback for a second.

 

In front of him stood this, well for lack of a better word, gorgeous man. He was tall, but not too tall, but definitely taller than Mickey, which made Mickey unconsciously stand up a bit straighter. He had bright red hair that stuck up all over the place, which Mickey chalked up to the kid being abruptly woken up. Mickey raked his eyes down over this kids strong chest, down his perfectly defined abs and finally to the “v” poking out just over the top of his sweatpants, and Mickey had to stop himself from drooling right there on the spot. He quickly looked back up to these bright green eyes that were busy raking themselves all over the gangster’s body. 

 

When their eyes finally met, it was unlike anything Mickey had ever felt before. He felt his whole body go cold at the intensity of the stare the redhead was giving him, like he could see right through him, like he was looking into Mickey's soul, reading him like an open book, searching for all his dreams and fears. It made Mickey's mouth go dry. Mickey was thankful he came alone today instead of with his brothers. If they were here, he wouldn't have been able to admire the fine piece of art he was standing in front of.

 

The redhead continued to stare at Mickey like he didn't know who Mickey was or why he was there, although he was sure he did, at least to the former. Everybody knew the Milkovichs.

 

But it’s like it didn't phase him, like Mickey wouldn't punch his lights out in a flash, no questions asked. And then of all things for this kid to do, he started smirking. The corners of the redheads mouth slowly began creeping upwards until he had the tiniest of smirks on his face.

 

They stood there for what Mickey felt like hours, but in reality was only a few seconds.

 

Mickey was the first to speak when he asked “Where the fuck is Frank?”

 

The redhead soon dropped his smirk, finally realizing why this sexy gangster was standing on his front porch. “Haven’t seen him in weeks, why? What’s he done now?”

 

“He made a bet, lost that bet, and now it’s time to pay up.” Mickey stated matter-of-factly.

 

“Oh, well, your guess is as good as mine as to where he is.” The redhead simply stated.

 

Mickey stared back at this kid trying to get a read on him. People usually couldn't look Mickey in the eye for very long, maybe a second at the most, but usually not at all. He almost prided himself on that fact. But here this kid stood, blatantly staring Mickey in the eye, challenging him almost. Mickey was a little thrown off to say the least, but of course he didn't show it.

 

He brought his thumb up to his bottom lip as he gently stroked it over, finally speaking, “Oh ya? How do I know you’re not just covering for him? Huh?”

 

“Ha, that’s a good one.” Stated the redhead as he half laughed. “Believe me when I say, nobody, and I mean nobody in this family would cover for Frank. He’s a deadbeat asshole loser who nobody wants around.”

 

Mickey stood there and stared at the redhead trying to see if there would be any fault in his demeanor, any shift in his posture, a quick drop in his eye contact, anything to give away that he was lying. After another dozen or so seconds of very intense eye contact, Mickey was convinced that he wasn't covering for Frank.

 

“Oh ya? Well, tell him I’m lookin for him.” Mickey said as he stood there in the midst of a staring contest that this fucker on the porch had started. 

 

“Sure thing” he said as he watched Mickey turn on his heels and start to walk away down the stairs.

 

“Hey” the redhead said. Mickey turned around and looked at him, eyebrows raised in such a manner to say _“Ya, what?”_

 

”How much money does he owe you?” he asked.

 

_"This kid got balls."_ Mickey thought, and answered without skipping a beat “A grand.”

 

The redhead’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. He hadn't been expecting that. Sure he knew his father was an idiot, but he didn't think he was stupid enough to be in debt to a Milkovich for a thousand dollars.

 

“Oh, uh... well, uh... ok then.”

 

Mickey just looked at the kid, satisfied he wasn't going to say anything else, he turned and started walking away again when he heard the redhead speak up again.

 

“Hey” he paused and waited for Mickey to turn around again.

 

At this point, Mickey was getting fed up with all the starting and stopping he was doing. He just wanted to get home so he could get on with his day. He stopped just short of the fence gate. He put one hand on it, took a deep breath and slowly turned to face this dam redhead that seemed to have a never ending supply of questions.

 

Ian picked up on the irritation on Mickey's face. He stayed silent for a minute, wondering if he should even ask what he was going to ask. 

 

Mickey caught on to the sudden loss of words from the redhead

 

"Ey, I ain't got all day, you got something to say, fucking say it man." Mickey huffed out impatiently. 

 

Well that definately snapped the redhead out of the daze he was temporarily caught in. 

 

“What if I came to work for you and I can, I don’t know, like work off his debt, or whatever.” He visible winced after letting the word vomit flow from his mouth, and instantly regretted saying it. 

 

The redhead could not get over how hot he thought Mickey was. I mean sure, he knew about him growing up in this neighborhood. How could he not right? But he'd been away for the past four years, and didn't realize he transformed into the hottest thing he’s seen in, well, forever. He wanted to see Mickey again, and the cockamamy idea of working for the Milkovich crime family was the first thing that popped in his head. He hoped it didn't backfire on him later. 

 

Mickey stared back at the redhead and he felt like his eyebrows would jump off his face if they rose any further. He contemplated his offer for a second. It was unlikely he would ever get his money from Frank, which he knew when he took the bet, because let’s face it, it’s Frank, and well, that day he was feeling a tad bit generous, never again. As Mickey stood there looking the kid over again, he figured he could use a little eye candy in his life, regardless if the kid was gay or not. Mickey thought he got a pretty good read on the kid, or maybe he was just hoping he was, because Christ this kid was hot, and it had been too long since he got some.

 

“You wanna come work for me huh?” Mickey asked as he stared up at the redhead with a small smile threatening his lips, cockiness back in full swing.

 

“Well, ya I guess. I mean I don’t want my family to get hurt because Frank’s an asshole who would throw all of us to the sharks before he paid his debts. I could, I don’t know, run errands for you or something. Go get your smokes or whatever.” He looked at Mickey with these giant puppy dog eyes, silently begging for Mickey to say yes.

 

Mickey rolled the idea around in his head for another couple of seconds before he finally decided _“fuck it, what’s the worst that could happen?”_

 

“Ya, I guess that could work, _Firecrotch_.” Mickey tested the nickname as he looked the redhead up and down, seeing if he gave Mickey any reaction.

 

Ian’s eyes lit up at the nickname, and a small smirk threatened the corners of his lips. _“I knew it!”_ He thought.

 

He couldn't help the full blown smile that had taken over his face by the time he responded, “It’s Ian actually.”

 

He waited and stared at Mickey to see if he had any response to that. When Mickey just stood there staring and waiting, Ian continued. ”Ok, so uh, when should I start?”

 

Mickey looked Ian up and down one more time before finally responding.

 

“Be at my place at 2, and don’t be late. And put some fucking clothes on.” Mickey stated as he pointed up and down at Ian.

 

Ian looked at what he was wearing, sweats and nothing else. Did Mickey really think he’d show up in sweatpants? Ian didn't know where he got all this bravado from all of a sudden, but he was going for it. He wanted Mickey, and he knew he had to stand up to the gangster if he was going to earn any type of respect from the man. Plus, I mean come on he was just totally checking Ian out. _“Pshh you love it.”_ Ian thought.

 

“Uh, didn't really plan on showing up in sweatpants, _Mick_.” Ian stated running a hand threw his messy hair, slicking it back into a similar fashion as Mickey’s.

 

Mickey’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. Never in his life has anybody talked to him like that. Nobody has ever had the balls to backtalk him. He was dumbfounded. He didn’t know if this kid had a death wish or what, but Mickey had to put him in his place before this kind of back talk went any farther. And yet, he just stood there and stared at him. He figured _Mick_ was in response to the firecrotch comment, but surprisingly enough, Mickey quite liked it.

 

He huffed a few times before finally speaking.

 

“Listen, _Firecrotch_ , I don’t care what you were planning on, just make sure you’re ready to go when you show up today.” And with that Mickey walked away and down the street.

 

He had to get away from this kid as fast as possible. He didn't know what just happened, but he kinda like it. He felt his stomach doing flips as he walked away.

 

“HEY!” Ian yelled at Mickey when he was already half way down the block. “I don’t know where you live!”

 

“Figure it out, ain’t my problem!” Mickey yelled back just as he was rounding the corner for home.

 

As Mickey walked down the street, he let his thoughts take over his headspace. He’s never felt this before, and it was quite intriguing. He noticed how fast his heart was racing as he dug into his pocket to get his smokes. He lit it up and as he blew the smoke out of his lungs, he could feel himself calming ever so slightly. “Who the FUCK was that kid?” He thought.

 

He felt like he lost all self - control and his head was spinning. Nobody has ever had an effect on him like that before, especially a guy. I mean sure, he's had his fair share of attractive guys, but this redhead was in a class by himself.

 

Christ, he was fucked.


End file.
